Not the Only Ones
by that inbetween shade of grey
Summary: Did you really think, District Twelve, that two children from such a far out district as your would be able to change the games? There have been so many pairings in seventy-three years. What made you special? Well, there was not one pair of starcross'd lovers alone. Rating for nudity and violence.


**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the plot, I'm just twisting it. Everything you recognise belongs to Suzanne Collins, except for Cato's speech, which belongs to Lionsgate.**

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_(for Miss Everdeen)_

Oh Katniss Everdeen, you naïve, arrogant, sure little 12. Your beautiful belief that yourself and Mr Mellark alone were enough for a rule change is almost endearing in its innocence, but let me tell you this: you were wrong. There have been lovers aplenty throughout the past seventy-three years of games, Miss Everdeen, and Capitol and district hearts alike have broken aplenty for them all. It would take more than a pair of children, flaming as they may have been, to change the system.

So why, I can almost hear you ask, did they change? Well, I must admit that it was in part due to what has been dubbed the 'sentimental streak' of the 74th game making team – though I personally think that this was far more related to boredom than anything else – but the more significant reason was most certainly that this year? There was not one pair of starcross'd lovers alone.

_(consider yourself well and truly reaped)_

Many people of Panem believe that Cato Lupus of District 2 volunteered for the fame, for the blood, for the glory, to bring pride to his district. Well…that was part of it, of course. But he hadn't been going to volunteer until the following year, wait until he was eighteen, in his prime, before he went. It's what his sister had done, the one who lived in Victors' Village now. But there was no way he'd've let her go in alone.

The other lovers had met up on the reaping day. There was a mountain, you see, in District 2…well, there were many mountains in District 2, but there was a specific mountain on which Cato and Clove met on regular occasions. Usually to train together – there is, I'm told, nothing more exhilarating than knife-fighting when only a slip of the foot away from death – but today, just to sit for half an hour, without the constant clank of stone on stone. They hadn't needed to say a thing, but when the sun came up, and Clove turned to Cato, his eyes were filled with… well, filled with something, and she cupped his face in her hand, smiling as she kissed him. "See you later." She'd whispered, and he'd smiled back before she turned away from him, and ran down the slope, leaping over rocks and bushes.

He'd only just made it to the reaping on time, and he hadn't been the only one to. District 2 is full of boys like him, massive guys, who've trained together – mostly – since the age of six. The reaping's quite a social scene, actually, there's laughter and drinks and the guys are all friendly; there's no competition within the district for the seventeen year olds, that'll come next year. But the crowd still went slightly quieter for the reading of the girls name.

"Clove Cassia!"

Cato had hissed involuntarily – and the boys around him had stepped away – and Clove had walked to the stage, a slightly amused smile on her face. It hadn't been that he was pedantic enough to keep his girl out of the games, but he had wanted, they had said, after he had won, maybe…

So he'd volunteered, because there was no way, not a chance in hell, that he would let her go in without him.

_(he will follow her __into the dark)_

Interesting, little 12, isn't it? Because something that the 16 year olds of District 12, in the year of the 74th games, had always said, sworn to, was that Peeta Mellark had hissed a little himself as soon as you gave yourself up, on that same day.

Another interesting fact: Cato and Clove took no notice of any of the other tributes except for Mr Mellark. Cato saw his obvious physical strength – his baker's shoulders, his muscular figure – as a distinct threat. Whereas you, girl-on-fire, were nothing but a child, saving her sister from a certain death that she would now face.

_(running out of time)_

While Mr Mellark and you, Miss Everdeen, were trying to buy yourselves a mentor, the team from two were training, hard, all the time, and always together. Now they knew they would be in the arena at the same time, they redoubled their ability to fight as a team, against their mentors, and word reached the gamemakers even then, of these bloodthirsty lovers, who'd kill quicker than they'd kiss.

While you, Miss Everdeen, were breaking your boyfriend's hands, Clove was soothing Cato and Enobaria was telling them both how much better they were, how being lovers was useless if you yourself were useless. And that's why your eleven hit so hard afterwards: you were the only competition, you and him.

_(strategy is everything)_

It was Mr Mellarks confession, Miss Everdeen, that confirmed to the District 2 mentors that actually, Cato and Clove should play up their relationship.

It was your own eleven, Miss Everdeen, that sent them back to rewatch every clip of you they could find, that kept them up that night, together, capable of neither sleep nor anything else.

And it was the combination of the two, Miss Everdeen, that convinced them to make their initial mission _find Peeta Mellark_.

_(wash it all away)_

The first night of the games, while the district ones and Peeta slept peacefully, Cato and Clove slipped a few metres away to a small stream.

In the silence of darkness, Clove gently slid off Cato's trousers while he unjacketed her, and silently popped the buttons of her shirt. His hands were warm on her shoulders as her clothes slipped away, and he rubbed them up and down her strong forearms as she pulled off his shirt.

They stood opposite each other, barely touching, as the water slid over their feet. It was a cold night, Miss Everdeen, I'm sure you remember, and Clove's small, brown nipples were in points. Both of them had goose pimples – hers hairless, and his not – and they stood, and watched each other, until what seemed like some seal was broken.

Clove picked up her blouse, and tore a strip from the seam. Dropping it in the brook, when it was soaked she gently began to rub at the blood stains on Cato's chest, her fingers creating sparks everywhere she touched. Cato wet his hands, and ran them down her side – I think that was District 5's blood, Twelve – and then licked one finger, to wash away a small stain above her left eyebrow.

When they were clean, Clove pulled herself against Cato's chest, feeling their wet, bare skin touch, and stayed there for almost the rest of the night.

The sun rose eventually, and they both dressed with only one kiss.

"And now," Clove murmured against his lips, "it begins."

_(one body, two hearts)_

Their training paid off, Miss Everdeen. They killed as a team, and they worked as a team. They ate as a team and every single decision they made was as a team.

When they injured your precious Peeta, it was only at Clove's nod that Cato did the deed. It was _her knife_.

They had been alone together for two weeks, Miss Everdeen, by the time you shouted your lover boy's name into the night.

Can you imagine that, _Katniss_? Can you imagine, if you've lost everything but this, your one anchor to the world, if for three hundred and forty hours – give or take – this other person, this other body, is all you've known?

More importantly, can you imagine _losing_ that?

_(hold your breath and count to twelve)_

"Cato!" She'd shouted, and he'd come running, of _course_ he'd come running, because she was his and it was obviously just a game and she was fine and why was his heart beating so quickly and –

And then he'd seen her.

"Clove!" He'd shouted back.

He cradled her dark head in his lap, and she'd smiled at him, a single stream of blood trickling from her left nostril, and he wiped it away and leaned down and kissed her and she tasted like iron and salt and those weird plants they'd had earlier and then she'd muttered his name again and he'd known then, known she was gone.

He stayed with her, and just before the light in her eyes went out, she'd whispered something. But her throat gurgled with blood, and her head wasn't working, and he hadn't heard.

And then she was really gone.

_(a short post script)_

I'd just like to mention one last thing to you, District Twelve.

Did you know that there are mockingjays outside district two, as well? And my mother always said to me that I looked most beautiful in black and white.

Did you know, District Twelve, that I would have been a far better story than you? Did you know that Cato would _never_ have succumbed to brainwashing?

Did you know, District Twelve, that I had a sister too?

So maybe, Twelve, it _was_ the sentimental streak that let you live. That gave you the chance to set the world on fire, to overturn the system, and to finally rid the world of the games that cheated me out of a life, and out of a love.

But maybe it was me.

_(one more child driven mad)_

_Go on, shoot. then we both go down and you win. Go on. I'm dead anyway. I always was, right. I couldn't tell that til now. How's that, is that what they want, huh? Nope, nah nah nah nah. I can still do this. I can still do this. One more kill. It's… It's the one thing I know how to do. To bring pride to my district. Not that it matters. (Not now she's gone.)_

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**AN: Okay so this basically came out of nowhere. I haven't ever written Clato before so please forgive me if I haven't done them justice, but I hope you enjoyed.**

**Major thank to Rina who made me finish this, and also to Suzanne Collins for making Katniss' birthday the same as mine. You rock.**


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